


Dog Tags

by esteefee



Series: Chess [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-13
Updated: 2008-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's always known he wasn't going to live very long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dog Tags

_**Then...  
**_ **  
**John wonders about it sometimes, though he would never admit it to anyone—what it would be like to live expecting to grow old.

He never has.

He was six when his mother died, and it was at her funeral that he realized dead meant _dead_ , meant never coming back, never ever.

John tried to ask his father about it, but was brushed off with a grunt and a request that John hand him the martini shaker. That was pretty much the only reason his father talked to him at all, after that.

It wasn't until the summer John was twelve and his best friend, Stevie Winnemacher, got killed playing by the train tracks, that John understood the real horror of death. Because he was just hanging out with Stevie the day before, and decided not to come with to the tracks because he wanted to pick up the new issue of _X-Men_ that was just being released. And just like that Stevie was dead.

It seemed to John if it could happen to Stevie, it could happen to _anyone_.

Not just grownups, but anyone at all.

John wondered if he died, would his father be sad?

:::

John read a lot that summer, hiding in his room with Zelazny and Ellison and Brunner. He read Heinlein's _Requiem_ and realized with a sense of aching unfairness that he was just like the old man in the story—he would die before he ever went to the moon.

Then he read _The Right Stuff_ , and decided he'd be a pilot like Chuck Yeager, crashing and burning on the tarmac.

If he was going to die anyway, that would be the best way to go.

:::

John was twenty-two when he went to war.

He learned a lot about death there, but he never did learn how to accept it. The resentment that had been growing in him since he was six years old boiled out of him one day when his commander told him the zone was way too hot and that they wouldn't be mounting a rescue mission.

John disobeyed orders.

All his friends died anyway, and John got shipped to Antarctica.

:::

 _  
**Now...**   
_

_****_John is thirty-four when he flips a coin and steps through a gate into another galaxy.

Here, the opportunities to die are exponentially increased. Really, he's surprised every time he makes it back through the gate, and always figures next time he won't. But for the first time he starts to feel like it would really _matter_ if he didn't.

At the same time, the probability he'll get someone else killed by making the wrong decision, by failing to protect them, has blown through the sky.

It almost makes him insane.

The scientists are like baby chicks—defenseless and confused, constantly poking their noses places without learning caution. McKay is the worst of them, because he is so goddamned smart, and obviously worried about such things as getting electrocuted or shot by native inhabitants, but he still goes poking or wanders off on his own way too often for John's comfort.

It's not that McKay isn't afraid; it's that he gets terminally _distracted._

 __So, John pays a lot of attention to him, and the more attention he pays, the more he likes what he sees.

It's dangerous, but John doesn't stop looking.

:::

John sleeps in his dog tags. There's too much of a chance he will get called out in the middle of the night, and he doesn't want there to be any problem identifying his body. Too many times in the past he's been witness to a mistake and the added heartache it brought to ones left behind.

The dog tags never leave his chest.

Rodney comments on it the second time they're in bed together, which is the first time they have sex. After Rodney sucks him off, John returns the favor, curled over Rodney's crotch, his pink cock sliding in and out of John's mouth, John's dog tags clinking gently against Rodney's hip.

It's the first time John has ever given a blow-job in a bed. Much easier on the knees, it turns out.

"You don't take these off?" Rodney says afterward, giving John's dog tags a tug, and John shakes his head. "Not even for sex? Is that a kink thing?"

"A—what?" John feels himself going red.

"You know," Rodney lifts one of the tags and scrapes it over John's nipple, making him shiver. He's ready to get hard again just on that.

"It's a practicality, McKay."

"For if you get killed." Rodney's voice is flat.

"Not if. When." He didn't mean to say that, and from Rodney's face, it was a really, _really_ stupid thing to say.

"My line of business—" John starts, trying to soften it, but Rodney is already rolling out of bed. "Look, I thought we settled this—"

"That's great. That's just perfect, Major Death Wish."

"I _don't_ have a death wish."

"No. Not exactly." Rodney has started pacing just like he always does when he's working out a problem, only this time he's completely nude which, to John's mind, provides a much more entertaining view.

"Hey, I like my life, okay? I like being alive. Anyway, we already _talked_ about this—"

"Hang on, I'm _thinking._ " Rodney turns around and faces him. John's eyes drop automatically to Rodney's pretty cock, which is half-hard. When John looks up again, Rodney's expression is a mix of smugness and impatience. "Eyes up here, Major."

"You can't call me that when we're naked. It's just—we need a rule."

"Fine. But getting back to the point—saying _when_ like that, like you're sure it's going to happen—"

"Pretty sure, yeah—"

"It's like you don't care _enough_."

"I care. Christ, I care a lot, all right? I'm just being realistic."

"See, that's the part I don't understand. It's not like you _have_ to—"

"We talked about strategy. We talked about moves on the board. Well, there's no strategy I know of that's going to keep me alive permanently, Rodney. In fact, it's the worst thing to do—you make mistakes when you worry about it. You tense up and fuck up if you're worried about your own hide—"

Rodney shakes his head. "That's not it, either. I mean your logic is all very well and good, I suppose, but you're distracting me from the primary point."

John falls back down on the mattress wearily. "Fine. Go. Give it your best shot."

"You think you're going to die—"

"I know it."

"Okay, so you know it. How? I mean, if you weren't a soldier—"

"I _am_ an _airman_ —"

"Bear with me for a second. Say you were...a dog catcher."

"In Atlantis?" John goes for the joke, trying to dispel the strange tension starting in his gut.

"Yeah, because we've encountered a lot of dogs out here in Pegasus. No. You're living in Bumblefuck, Iowa, where dog-catching is your true calling. What then?"

John doesn't answer.

"You live to be eighty—"

John shakes his head.

"No? Stray tornado gets you? What?"

"I'm not that guy. I was never meant to be that guy." John rests his hand over his dog tags, warming them against his skin, seeking reassurance. They're there, where they've always been. He remembers Iraq. Afghanistan. Even Antarctica, where death was waiting in a patch of sudden weather, in a violent, frigid crosswind.

Then, Atlantis. The Wraith. The Replicators. That weird, giant gerbil thing on M2V-119 with the poisonous horns.

"What guy, Sheppard? What the _hell_ are you talking about? I swear, your brain is like a—" Rodney starts waving his hands, "—confusing swamp of protoplasm."

John grins easily. "I'm _this_ guy," he says to Rodney. "I'm just the guy doing what I'm supposed to do, even if everyone thinks I'm an asshole for doing it. And you're the same guy, even if you don't want to admit it."

Rodney shakes his head in disbelief, but John overrides him. "You could have stayed all cozy and happy in your lab in Arizona, in some classroom at M.I.T., publishing papers and winning prizes. Instead, you're here jumping into black energy creatures or working in a lightning storm to save the damned city. You're the guy that put himself between Kolya's gun and Elizabeth. Fuck, I still can't believe you took on a _wraith_ to save my life. So don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about here."

John gets up, the sheet falling off him, and sees Rodney's eyes go a little crazy with lust in spite of his obvious anger. John waits, and like a magnet pull Rodney drifts toward him.

"You're the same guy," John says. "That why I—" He doesn't say the rest, but lifts his hand and puts it on Rodney's sternum. Right where his dog tags should be. John will have to requisition him some. He deserves them.

"Okay," Rodney says, and if his voice is a little shaky, John gets why. This is as close as he can come.

Rodney's nipple is tight under John's pinky, and he moves his finger back and forth a couple of times just to feel Rodney shiver. Then Rodney leans up and kisses him; not like the crazed wall-kiss that was their first kiss, or like the desperate, hungry kisses earlier on Rodney's bed. These are sweet kisses, making John feel a little nervous at the tenderness, at the focus.

He feels Rodney's knuckles on his chest as he grips John's dog tags. And then Rodney pulls him back onto his bed.

The soft kisses are edged with heat now, and John groans and plants his thigh between Rodney's legs, feels him squeeze his legs tight on either side. Rodney's hand is stroking up and down John's spine, going lower each time until Rodney's fingertips rest at the crack of John's ass.

"You want that?" John asks, his voice low. "I think I'd like that. A lot."

Rodney pulls back, licking his lips. "Have you ever done it before?"

"Nah. But I'm feeling adventurous." And he wants it. He wants to feel alive. He wants Rodney feeling him alive, because it's still hanging over them—the wraith so nearly had them all, and then John had made his short, lonely ride in the puddlejumper, speeding toward oblivion.

But most of all, he wants to be in Rodney's flesh memory, buried in Rodney's cells.

Rodney gives him a lopsided twist of a grin, like it hurts him, almost, and then he rolls to one side and reaches into his bedside table. John takes the opportunity to nibble at Rodney's smooth shoulder blade and leave a small mark against the pale skin.

Making a sweet sound, Rodney turns back. He's got a small bottle of lubricant and a condom, but John takes the condom packet and tosses it.

Rodney frowns.

John shrugs. "What, you're going to tell me Carson doesn't test our blood six ways from Sunday every time we come back from off-world?"

"It's the principle of the thing," Rodney starts to huff. Then his eyes go uncertain. "You know, I've never had sex without a condom. I—"

"First time for everything," John says, and kisses Rodney again before he can make up complaints and arguments. What John doesn't say is he wants to feel all of it. He wants to feel Rodney.

John hears the cap on the bottle click, but Rodney doesn't stop kissing him—apparently he has multi-tasking down to a fine art. Then Rodney nudges John's inner thigh with his wrist, and John rolls more to his back and raises his knee.

"Like this?" John says, suddenly uncertain.

"Yeah. No, wait—roll onto your other side."

John twists and squirms more than rolls—the bed is too goddamned narrow—and then Rodney pulls John's leg back and over his thigh. John feels unbalanced, splayed out like this with part of his weight resting against Rodney. But then Rodney reaches between John's legs and he gets the point of the position.

Rodney's slick fingers rub up underneath his balls, sliding up and back, and John's cock jerks to full hardness at the sweet pressure.

"Good?" Rodney says, right in John's ear.

"Uh. Umm..." John says incoherently as Rodney's fingers slip lower, rubbing against his hole. It feels weird to be touched there. Rodney pauses and pulls his hand back to squeeze out more lube, and a drop of it lands on John's nipple, making him twitch.

"Sorry," Rodney mutters, rubbing the lube onto John's nipple with his thumb, and then his fingers move back to John's hole. John rolls his hips forward to give him more room, and Rodney _mmm's_ a little in approval, making John shiver just as the tips of his fingers slide in.

"Easy," Rodney says. John makes himself relax. He wanted this. He still does, but now in the middle of it he wonders what he's getting himself into. Rodney's cock is hard, like a hot bar pressing against his back, and his fingers are sliding deeper inside John's body. Blunt, knowing fingers. John has always admired them, especially when they were saving everyone's ass, but now they're _inside_ John's ass, learning _him_.

Stroking him. Smoothly, easily, so he starts rocking to the rhythm, his dog tags dangling down against his nipple. Rodney's fingers feel good, not so weird anymore, and John lets his upper leg relax, opening himself more.

"Just like that," Rodney says with smug satisfaction, and pushes deeper. John can't reply, because his whole body suddenly jerks with sensation. He'd been expecting it in the back of his mind, remembering uncomfortable prostate exams, but this is nothing like that, because Rodney's fingertips are too smart for that, are too sly and delicate, and instead of pain John feels a bright, sharp pleasure.

His cock twitches, pre-come tickling down the head, and he swipes his thumb over it so it stops itching. Only it feels so damned good he does it again, and suddenly he's rubbing his palm over himself in the same rhythm as Rodney's strokes.

John groans, low, helpless, suddenly so turned on he can't control himself.

Like it's a cue, Rodney bends over his shoulder and puts another finger inside, pushing in, stretching him.

"Jesus Christ," John mutters, because that feels incredible. "Come on," he says, using the leg hooked around Rodney's thigh to pull them both over.

"Hey!" Rodney's fingers slip out and he puts his hand on the sheet to support himself. "Pushy, are we?"

Deciding he should maybe, yeah, take a little control here, John reaches back and pulls Rodney further on top of him. "Ready. I'm ready."

"Oh, and you're speaking from your limited experience of—ah!"

That would be Rodney's cock sliding between John's slick butt cheeks, and John moans softly at the feel of Rodney slipping past his hole. He's never even paid attention to his asshole in the past, but that's going to change in future, damn it. He'd had no idea. None.

 _Just do it_ , John thinks, as he feels Rodney shifting behind him. But Rodney has other ideas, because he's tugging on John, moving him up, putting a pillow underneath him. That helps, actually, because now John can spread his legs wider; he feels balanced, comfortable, and what a weird thing to feel when he's about to get fucked.

Christ. He's about to get _fucked._

"Jesus, John." Rodney's hands hold him open, and John shivers because he can feel Rodney looking at him; Rodney moans something appreciative, and John's face burns a little where it's mashed against the mattress. Then Rodney's cock is sliding down his crack and catches right at John's hole. It feels big—way big—but John knows this place, it's the same mindset he needs before going in, gun held ready, and he takes a deep breath and lets it out just as Rodney pushes his way in.

There's a pop-sliding feeling and then Rodney really is inside him. _Ow._ Definitely bigger than he thought, and maybe he wasn't ready, but this shouldn't be any harder than anything else he's done. John relaxes and Rodney slowly eases a little deeper and— _Yeah. God, yeah_. Better than Rodney's fingers. It's Rodney's cock getting to know him, pushing in and pulling back, hard and warm as anything.

John moans.

"Good? Oh, good. Jesus, John," Rodney says. His cock feels good, stretching John open, going those last inches until he's warm and solid against John's butt, against the backs of his thighs.

Then they both groan.

When Rodney pulls back, his hands land on John's ass cheeks again and pull him open.

"God, that's beautiful," Rodney gasps. John feels his own ass clench and release involuntarily. Jesus, he's quivering, his legs are shaking as Rodney thrusts forward again, this time fast and smooth, and then he pulls back and does it again, and John squirms a little because he's sure he can make this even better— _like this, right like this—Oh, yeah. Oh, Christ.  
_  
"Rodney!"

"Got it, got it," Rodney says, and when he pumps in again it's exactly right, spangles of light sparking behind John's eyes because it's so good, so insanely good when Rodney rubs up against him inside there, behind his balls. The shaking in John's legs is taking over his whole body, and he can feel sweat dripping down his neck as he starts to push back, trying to make it harder. He wants Rodney to fuck him harder.

"You like this, you really do," Rodney says, wonder in his voice, like he's found some incredible new piece of Ancient technology. "You like... _me_?" Sounding uncertain.

The uncertainty breaks John's mouth open. "Yeah. Yeah, do it Rodney. Want you. Do me. God, do me," John chants low into the mattress and pushes back with each thrust. "Rodney. God, Rodney." John feels like he's already coming, like he has been for a while, but he hasn't yet, and he's a little scared what will happen when he does, like maybe he'll rupture something.

Rodney puts his hands on the mattress and leans down over John's back, and John can feel cheek stubble brushing against his spine between his shoulders. Rodney whispers something, too soft for John to hear, and then Rodney really starts to pump short and fast—his back must be killing him, John thinks, but maybe it doesn't matter to him now. Nothing matters but the thrust of Rodney's cock inside him, going so fast now, both of them breathing hard. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , John thinks, because he might come like this, and wouldn't that be a kick? His dick is poking against the pillow, not nearly enough, but it doesn't matter because he's getting it so good inside, flashes of pleasure, in that same, even rhythm, and he can almost—

"Touch yourself. John, let me see you—"

John hurriedly shifts his weight and squirrels his hand down past the pillow. He can't quite grip himself, but he puts his palm there, so every thrust pushes him down into his own hand.

Groaning loudly now, vaguely embarrassed at the sounds he's making, John clenches instinctively around Rodney's cock, feeling the pull and the push and the rub of his own palm, and John comes just like that. And keeps coming, peaking over and over until he's spent, spunk all over his hand, his ass staying clenched tight while he continues to shake in the aftermath.

"Oh. Oh," Rodney says in his ear, "God, _John_." Rodney pushes himself upright again and grabs John's hips. And then he is being well and truly fucked, no kidding around, Rodney's strong hands moving him around like a doll while he pounds into John's ass.

John yelps with surprise when his cock jerks again, a dry twitching that feels so damned good, but almost too much. He's so alive right now, every nerve calling out, and he knows Rodney feels it, too. Because Rodney is practically sobbing behind him, saying John's name in a breathless voice when he shoves deep and comes. John feels that, too—every jerk and pulse—and who would've thought he'd get off on feeling Rodney McKay coming inside him?

But John does. He loves it. He loves where he is, and who he's with. Semi-hysterically, he thinks of the recruiting poster— _Come out to Atlantis! Make new vampire friends! Get your ass fucked by a brilliant scientist!_

People who don't want this are nuts.

Rodney is still hard inside him, where he's wet with Rodney's come, and John thinks the imprinting has definitely gone both ways, because even when Rodney pulls out with a groan, John can still feel him in there.

"That was...spectacular," Rodney says, because he always needs to sum up every situation, apparently, and John grins quietly to himself. The chain of his tags is pulled tight, caught under Rodney's elbow, so John doesn't move, just feels the tug against his neck, and the weight of Rodney's thigh over his.

John thinks: _he'll remember me now._

That's all he ever wanted, really.

:::

Later, after going back to Earth and giving endless debriefings, they're back in Pegasus on M6B-283, where the nice almost-human people are terrified of the big, toothy s _torwak_ they say lives in the hills above the village and comes at night to slaughter their livestock and even a little kid every so often. It's impossible to hunt down, they say, because the _storwak_ has this uncanny ability to bend their sight whenever they get close.

They would happily give their strange, useless Ancient artifacts in exchange for killing the beast.

John, his ass sore from a wild night bent over Rodney's desk, nods his head at Rodney's life signs detector. "What do you say? Want to go hunting with me?"

"Are you nuts? Major, I mean, _Colonel_ , we don't even know what this thing is or how it's evading detection. We could end up being _prey,_ like little mice—"

"What, you wanna live forever?" John's eyes stray to Rodney's neck. He can see the chain of Rodney's new dog tags right where they disappear under his shirt.

Rodney smiles suddenly at him, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed.

John grins back, and together they go hunting.

 

 _End.  
_


End file.
